


What Ether It Is That Ignites Me

by azephirin



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Barebacking, Black Character, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Character of Color, Interracial Relationship, POV Female Character, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-26
Updated: 2010-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:53:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/pseuds/azephirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>I'm steeped in this pleasure and I snapped from my tether. The foundation may vibrate apart, and you lead me again to the back of the line and we'll work our way slow to the start.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	What Ether It Is That Ignites Me

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine, which makes me sadder than you can possibly imagine. Summary and title from "[Whip the Blankets](http://www.nekocase.com/lyrics/frl09.htm)," by Neko Case & Her Boyfriends.

Nyota opens the door to Kirk’s quarters and steps inside. He doesn’t have music on, which is unusual; his eyes are fixed on a book, which isn’t unusual at all, but his face isn’t displaying the serious, slightly critical expression he gets when he reads. In fact, he doesn’t even appear to be paying attention, which is only slightly less odd with a book than it would be with the _Enterprise_.

She opens her mouth to ask whether he’s OK—and then the door closes and he erupts across the room and pushes her against the wall. He’s in jeans, and through the denim she can feel that he’s already hard. His skin is warm against hers, hotter than normal, like he’s been idling high, and she alters the prospective question to, _Just what were you reading, anyway?_ That doesn’t make its way into the air, either, because Kirk’s hand has moved between her legs, cupping her pubic mound through her dress, and he says, low and desperate, “I’ve been wanting to suck you all day. All day. I’ve been hard as nails watching you on the bridge, and I had to sneak away and jerk off like I was still in fucking high school, and, God, you smell so good”—he rolls his hips against hers as his fingers make their way up her thigh under her dress—“and please.”

With Spock, this would be _pon farr_. With Kirk, it’s similarly cyclical, but far more frequent, and tuned to her biology rather than his.

“Do it,” Nyota says.

Kirk exhales, “Yeah,” and drops to his knees. He pushes her skirt up and presses his face to her pubis, nuzzling her through her panties, and she shudders as she feels the heat of his mouth.

He reaches up and rips the underwear off her. She’d object, but his tongue is sliding up and down over her clit. She spreads her legs to give him better access, moves her feet farther apart, and realizes, feeling dirty and euphoric, that she’s still wearing not only her uniform but also her boots. Kirk is licking her in varying concentric circles now, darting inward to tease at her hood and then back out. Nyota groans, and her hand falls into his hair, where it tightens into a fist as he takes her clit into his mouth before returning to this maddening circles again. She grind against his face a little, hoping he’ll take the hint—and he responds by thrusting what feel like three fingers inside her.

She arches up onto the balls of her feet and moans, and she just knows he’s smiling, that arrogant bastard. She’s clenching around those fingers—and then his other hand is under her dress, too, and his tongue swipes across her clit as he rubs her asshole. She wants him inside her there, too, and she starts to come as he keeps licking her, fucking her with his fingers, rubbing her hole just hard enough to make her think of his cock there—oh, that’s it. Her head falls against the wall, and orgasm bursts through as she gasps, caught at the precipice for a deliciously agonizing moment, and then falls.

She doesn’t literally fall, though her knees do their best to give out. She balances herself on Kirk’s shoulders, and until she has her joints back, he supports her body with his. Then he stands up and wraps his hands around her thighs.

They’ve done this enough for her to know what he wants. He lifts her, and Nyota pulls him closer with her legs around him. He has to shift a little, holding her up with one arm and his body weight, while he gets his jeans and boxers down, and then he pushes inside her, hard and unhesitating, just the way she likes it.

As long as they’ve been together, as many times and as many ways as they’ve fucked, this part is always a little new, the shape and heat of his cock in her cunt. They pause for a moment, panting, Kirk’s forehead resting against hers. He starts moving shallowly in and out of her, and Nyota tries to twist to make the penetration deeper, but Kirk just laughs a little and drops his hands to her hips, holding her in place. His lips are closer to hers as he tells her, “When I was jerking off, I thought about you. Just you. I thought about having you here like this, up against the wall. I thought about filling you with my come, shooting it up into your womb.” She’s sure there’s more he’d like to say, but they both know by this time that greater detail about certain things, especially the possibility of pregnancy, will actively turn her off. “I thought about fucking you and then you going out onto the bridge with my semen dripping out of you, nobody knowing except us, nobody knowing that you’re sloppy with my come.”

She kisses him with all the ferocity she can put into it, then says, “What about that mouth of yours? You think anybody would guess that you’ve been in here on your knees, the captain kneeling like a whore and then giving orders when you can still taste me?” Kirk moans, and Nyota smiles and bites the base of his neck. “I bet they’d all guess. You’re my little whore, and everybody knows it.”

Kirk’s next thrust forces a sound from her that’s almost a scream, and he keeps that pace as Nyota cries out at each stroke. He has to grit his teeth, but he manages to say, “Would a whore do this for you?”

She forces her eyes open. “If I paid him enough.” Kirk’s fucking her so hard, it’s almost brutal, and Nyota wants to let herself sink into the mindless animalism of their bodies together, but there’s also one more thing she wants—needs—to give him. She cranes her neck to whisper in his ear, “Come on, Jimmy, fill me up. I want your come in me, want you to give me as much as you have. Give me all of it.”

His eyes go wide and dark, and he chokes out, “Nyota!” as he clutches at her, gripping her hip and her ass tightly enough to bruise. She feels his climax outside and in: It rips through his body while his ejaculation spurts up inside her. He trembles with the aftershocks and she holds him, cradling his head on her shoulder and kissing the parts of his face she can reach: the bridge of his nose, his eyelid, his eyebrow.

Then he pulls them back, carries her to his bed, and buries his face between her thighs again.

He kisses the insides of her thighs, licking up her emissions and his semen; then he moves to her labia, his tongue delicate even though she’s just been fucked hard and all she wants to do is come. His kisses are gentle, closed-mouthed, and Nyota gasps, “Kirk!” He laughs again, that asshole, and then gives her the flat of his tongue across her clit and four fingers in her cunt. He’s tireless and persistent, and she comes with her legs spread wide for him and another scream on her lips.

Sex this dirty requires a water shower, never mind the scientific support for the sonic, and they dry each other afterward with actual towels. By the end of it, Nyota’s sleepy, ready to curl up in bed against Kirk’s back, and that’s what they do. (Nyota contemplates that Kirk’s secret shame is not that he likes to eat her out on his knees—most of the ship would probably consider that the happy duty of any remotely heterosexual male—but that he prefers to be the little spoon.) He’s warm and relaxed, radiating drowsy contentment—but there’s the slightest ridge of tension in his spine, only barely enough to alert Nyota to its presence.

She keeps herself awake and waits, and after a while, Kirk ventures, “So I know most of the shit we say is just shit we say.”

“Most of it,” she agrees.

“But if you wanted to go on shift one day—well, maybe not dripping, exactly…”

She kisses his nape and smiles. “If I wanted to walk around with your come inside me, maybe let you finger me once or twice during the day to make sure it was there?”

“Yes,” Kirk breathes, fervently.

Nyota draws him closer, and he takes her hand, tangling their fingers together. “Fuck me in the morning,” she says, “and we’ll see. But I do own the trouser uniform, somewhere, and I knew I requested it for a reason.”

+||+||+

  
The next morning, at work on the translator, sufficiently sticky to feel like she’s gotten away with something but not enough to feel really messy or distracted, Nyota decides that it was for a good reason indeed.


End file.
